Suffocation A Maximum Ride and Hunger Games cross
by rueprimgaleANDfang
Summary: Max is finally fed up with Dylan  we all knew she would be one day, and waiting for Angel to return. Then, at an airport, she sees a flight to some place called Panem. Curious, she boards the flight...what happens there? T for violence...but not too bad.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, guys! So this is my new-ish fanfic. It's a cross of Maximum Ride and The Hunger Games, probably the two best things ever to be written. It takes place after Angel, but also in the future of Panem. You'll see. THG will be tied in during Chapter 2, which shall be posted after either a week or three reviews. So, review?**

**Disclaimer: Okay, Fang, do the honors.**

**Fang: rueprimgaleANDfang does not own The Hunger Games, Maximum Ride, or any characters in them, including me. Thank God for that. She does not own the plots in our books, but she does own any other plotlines and characters. Poor people.**

**That's enough, Fang. On with the story!**

Max's POV:

Stupid airplane. If Fang hadn't recruited a bunch of wingless losers, we could have flown ourselves to Portugal. We should have stayed split up, but I couldn't leave Fang again. So, there I was, with a numb butt, watching stupid self-centered flight attendants flirt with my—oops, just Fang.

"Just quit it! He's taken," I snapped. She shot me a puzzled look, like 'Why aren't you sitting with him, then?' before I realized my mistake

.

"What!" came Fang's almost expressionless voice, across the aisle.

"Uh...I mean...Maya," I covered lamely, though Fang probably knew exactly what I'd meant.

"Riiiiiight," muttered the flight attendant. I shot her a glare only Maximum Ride is capable of.

_Angel, what are we gonna do? _I thought. Then I remembered that my little girl was...gone. Hopefully alive, but what else could that bloody sneaker have meant?

And that moment, when we discovered her absence, was when I decided Dylan was a somehow-winged experiment that should not be alive and that I wish he had died in that car crash, too. Because where was he? Not comforting me, like Fang was, even though Fang wasn't the one who had jumped on a table to serenade me in the middle of a food fight. God, I hate Dylan now. If only Fang would ditch Maya, then she could run off with Dylan and live happily in Germany, fulfilling those nasty plans with him.

Then Fang would be all mine—I have got to stop this! Whatever happened to the Max that was Fang's best friend? Even that would be better than being ignored, or yelled at, by the one person I used to be able to trust.

_Max, if you want him back, just tell him. _Chided the Voice. Yeah, that's me, a bird-kid with a Voice. And not a gushy, sappy, lovey-dovey tell-him-how-I-feel teenage birdie.

_Hey, Voice! Long time no see...uh, hear, _I greeted it cheerily, but still utterly annoyed.

Deciding to somewhat follow the Voice's advice, I leaned over and said, "Fang."

He looked over. "Max?"

"Well, how do you like the plane ride?"

He looks at me like I'm finally off my rocker. So I get to my point.

"We could be flying ourselves right now," I hint.

"What about my band?"

"None of this would have even happened if it weren't for them: Angel would be right _here, _Maya wouldn't be here, and I would even have left Dylan alone!" I screeched, forgetting that we were on an airplane filled with other now-curious people.

"Really?" At first I think I'm being forgiven, but— "because if Dylan hadn't come in the first place, I wouldn't have even left!" he continues, obviously also failing to remind himself that we were in public. Or, as public as twenty-row propeller planes get.

Dylan glanced over, looking hurt. I smile sweetly at Dylan, to bother both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! It's Chapter Two! Bear with me, it gets better later. I don't think I even have reviews on this one. Stupid puts crossovers in their own special section. Gr. Anywhoo, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: **

**Peeta: She does not own The Hunger Games or Ultimate Ride-**

**Me: It's MAXIMUM Ride, idiot. *hates Peeta***

**Peeta: Yeah. Well, she doesn't own it. *goes brain-dead like normal***

**Me: Heh..heh…on with ze story!**

Chapter 2:

We finally land in Portugal, and places of my body are numb that I didn't know existed. Lovely.

"Max? Are we gonna get food?" asks Gazzy. I nod at him. Meanwhile, Ratchet, one of Fang's Gang, asks the same question.

_Oh, sure. He didn't replace us at all!_

A few feet away, Maya gasps. Convulsing on the ground. I smile in satisfaction. Not Fang, though. He runs to Maya's side and tries to help her, to no avail. I look over to see Angel muttering to her self, concentrating hard.

That's my little bird-kid! She made Maya have a seizure!

"Thanks," I tell her.

"I always wanted to try that!" Angel exclaims happily. "And I figured that she'd be a good test subject."

"Why not Dylan?" I whine, sounding more like Angel's age than my own.

"Why not me what?" asks my nemesis too sweetly.

"Angel just….was making plans for lunch, and was going to make Gazzy pay, but I said that you could do it," I chime brightly, before Angel makes him choke himself or something. Though I wouldn't mind. Dylan relaxes a little; I think Angel made him believe me.

Sometimes mind-readers are just great! Oh yeah, and we found Angel. She just sort of...appeared in the middle of the flight. Nobody noticed she had been gone and back for half an hour. Finally, Gazzy burst into happy tears, something he rarely shows, and hugged her. I should have figured it out from the way Angel had no plane seat, how she was towing her luggage, or even the way she seemed very happy to see us. We think she can teleport now, but it could have meant an unfortunate plane window.

As we watch the flight schedules, to see where to go next, I see a country I've never heard of before. Panem?

"What's that?" I want to know.

Fang answers me. "Some new country. Let's see where it is." He walks to a counter, points to the name, and then nods.

"It's...it's North America. Look, there're no flights to anywhere in our entire continent! Just Panem. Which is weird, because you'd think a whole continent had more than one airport. Wanna go check it out?"

This is the most Fang has said to me...since he left. I nod, hoping that maybe this cold attitude towards each other can stop soon. And we can at least be friends again. Fang leaving was taking my best friend and….uh...significant other away from me.

"Why are we even in Portugal? Paris had, like, the cutest clothes! We could have stayed there for years and not looked at every store! Plus, I don't see why we brought all these wingless dodos along. They can't do anything useful, really. I mean, I'm a human magnet, and what can they do? Heal stuff? So what if we—" I clamp a hand over Nudge's mouth, appreciating her dodo remark, but still on the verge of a migraine.

"We're here so Max can enjoy some sunshine for once and so nobody understands mine and Gazzy's bomb plotting, and maybe we'll dump the Wingless Wusses in the Strait of Gibraltar! See, Max, I am learning!" Iggy says, taking a leaf from Nudge's run-on sentences book.

"No bombs," Nudge pleads. I bob my head in agreement.

"Quiz time. Gazzy, what's on the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar?" I blurt.

"Uh...Africa. I know some countries too! South Africa, Morocco, Sudan, the Congo, Kenya, Ethiopia, and Chad!" he reels off.

Chad. We went there once, as a flock. That was where we met Dylan. No matter how sweet and friendly the people were, that country will always hold bad memories. If we'd never gone there, we never would have met Dylan, and Fang wouldn't have left. Oh, and that Dr. Gummy-Hagen-Dazs.

"Sure, let's go to Panem," I decide. Nobody needs to argue. I go to book six tickets. Dylan and the Wingless Wussies will just have to stay in Portugal. Or in the Atlantic Ocean…


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so Chapter 3 is demented and refuses to post. I do not know why. (Wait- SCORE! I got it!)**

CHAPTER 3: Another airplane...because we aren't quite sure where this airport is. And, if there's just one public destination within an entire continent, we wanna make sure we land somewhere inconspicuous. For now.

"Max?" asks Nudge sweetly.

"Yeah?"

"So, when we get to Panem, can we please go shopping? Pretty pretty please with….with….dead Dylan on top? I mean, it seems like where we're going will at least have some stores, like the ones in airports even, but they sometimes have clothes and magazines and stuff, and I bet I have some money I could spend, and I'll even get something for you—mphhhppm!" Iggy claps a hand over her mouth, though I have no idea where he found the location of her mouth.

"Not in the airport. When and if we get to a city, you and Angel can shop," I say grudgingly.

"Hey, Max. What about us? We can just book our own tickets," Maya offers sarcastically. "Because we _so _have that much money. Or, in your case, a mind controller who manipulates the poor staff into giving us tickets."

"Right. About that. Dylan, you're going to stay here because you're so tough and independent. With Fang's Gang. They want to do some touring, but Fang's coming with us so he can tell you all about Panem," I lie encouragingly. (Think on that for a minute!) Fang looks confused, but follows me. I grin at Angel. "You know, Ange, I just love having you back." She smiles back. Needless to say, the next plane ride is not without awkwardness that even Nudge can't correct.

"Awkward silence!" Gazzy announces.

"You know what that means!" snickers Iggy. Note to self: find out and _ban_ meaning of term. Fang sits quietly in his seat across the aisle from Angel. Next to her is Nudge, then me, and Iggy and Gazzy are in the row in front of us. His shoes have seemingly become the most interesting things in the whole world.

_Hmm, aren't I supposed to be saving the world? _I muse to myself.

The Voice answers. _Yes, Max. If you would stop worrying about your own little problems, you could be doing that._

"Shut up, Voice. Nobody asked you. And they're not small problems, either. Maybe Panem has something we can save," I hiss at the window. Nudge glances over, but returns to prattling on about something to Angel.

We finally get to Panem, in a city with a bazillion buildings that sparkle all over the place. Everyone besides Fang "Ooh"s and "Ahh"s. The plane flies over a circle of buildings where chariots are moving slowly in a line. Each of the twelve chariots has two occpants, each in similar costumes. I squint at it curiously as the plane jerks into the runway and the circle disappears.

"What's that?" I ask the stewardess.

"Oh, those are the Hunger Games chariots, don't you know?" she replies, like I'm some sort of uneducated….wait. Never mind.

"And the Hunger Games are…" I wheedle.

"Oh, you've never been here before, have you? The Hunger Games are a fight to the death. It's a reality show, and one boy and one girl ages 12 to 18 from each district go into an arena and we all get to watch the victor be crowned!"

"You...host...death fights?" I choke out. It's like the School, manipulating innocent things into becoming horrible.

"Did you just say that kids have to—" Nudge begins, stopping when she sees everyone's expressions. "ZOMG. I'm twelve, and you three are fifteen. What if we end up in those Hungry Games?"

"Hunger Games," I correct, "and we won't. Those kids have apparently been chosen already." A man in a twinkling blue suit and purple hair, lips, and makeup, steps up to us.

"Hello, I am Caesar Flickerman. Welcome to the 72nd Hunger Games. Here are our tributes, so you can look up their names in this program here." He hands each of us a program with 24 names inside.

"Uh..thanks. You don't happen to recognize the word 'whitecoat' do you?" Fang questions warily.

"No. Well, I know a white coating that can erase your features and allow them to be drawn back out! But, no, not as one word," Caesar admits confusedly.

"Good."

"Um, Max?"

"Not now, Nudge."

"No, it's important," Nudge whines.

"What?" I snap, regretting it the moment her face shrinks back in hurt. "Sorry."

"Read the tribute list. The boy for District 6." I read the name, and beam. The male tribute for District 6, whatever that is, is Dylan.

FOUR

"Yes! Oh my freaking gosh, yes!" I jump up and down like a giddy freakin' schoolgirl, but whatever. Dylan's going to be sent to a fight to the death! I'm flying high- metaphorically, but only because there's enough creeps here, and I don't wanna be associated with them.

Nudge is smiling, along with the rest of the flock. Angel actually looks more confused than anything. Oh...she must not know that I hate Dylan now!

_I do now!_ She tells me mentally. Oops.

It's Fang's reaction that tempts me to continue my act the most, though. He has an amused half-smile on his face, the closest I've seen to friendly from him since before he left us. Dylan, to my great pleasure, looks horrified. Serves him right, that mutant cloned bird-kid! He swallows hard, then sends Nudge into a fit of hysteric laughter with a scream so high-pitched and girly, I wouldn't have believed even Angel capable of it.

"Aw, babe, are you scared?" Gazzy mocks in my own voice. Iggy makes a dismissive noise.

"He'll be fine. He has freaking _wings, _or had you forgotten?"

Oh, right…(insert swear word of choice here).

_Surgery? _I think to Angel. She must have projected that thought to everyone, because the Flock–and the Flock only– all are in some state of hysteric laughter. Dylan, however, turns various shades of red, green, and white. Iggy mutters something about a Mexican flag, complete with the bird.

I smirk. "You saw the program! Not sure how exactly you won this...um...honor, but you did, so off you scamper!" I announce, shoving my "perfect other half" towards a chariot drawn by horses.

Two adults stand behind it, and immediately start screaming bloody murder at Dylan for "not being in costume". Then I understand. A girl about my age, maybe a year younger, with curly brown hair is in a green dress that sparkles in the dimming light. On her head is a black stretchy band with a shiny disc like a doctor's. Is Dylan going to be in a dress too? I dearly hope so.

Unfortunately, as I find out a few minutes later between fits of laughter at Dylan's confusion, he won't be wearing a dress. What he does have to sit in the chariot in is a sparkly green suit—complete with leaves sewn onto it—and a stethoscope. I can't decide if he's a plant or a doctor.

"That district is in charge of medicine," Angel whispers to me.

Ah. Fang is enjoying this, with a full-blown grin. Five chariots have pulled out into the streets already; Dylan's is next. The girl next to him, apparently named Aria, acts like she's got a clue what this is about, smiling and waving at the crowd. Her name makes me laugh harder. I know it's not technically nice to mock the name of the seven-year-old Eraser who "expired" before we went to Ant-freezing-arctica. Do I care? Nope.

As the flock, finally minus Dylan, continues cracking jokes (which are pretty hilarious, I might add), I search the crowd for an average-looking, preferably boring person. Perfect!

A man, maybe 35, sits in a beige business suit, with literally less emotion on his monotoned face than Fang. At least Fang's face is somewhat attracti—bad Max!

I walk up the the guy and introduce myself. "Hey, I'm, uh, Violina." Why not? The people here have even wackier names than the flock.

The guy nods slowly. "Chuck." Wow. Even in this messed-up place that may or may not be in the mountains where our E-house was, this dude's name is Chuck.

"So...Chuck. Could you use a little extra moo-lah? All you need to do is say, oh, three sentences to that boy over there." I point to Gazzy, who is still snickering at the chariots.

All Chuck does is mutter, "Moo-lah?"

"Money."

"Oh." Finally he understands. And smirks. I show Chuck one picture with three sentences scrawled on the back. Oh, Dylan. If only you knew what's in store for you….


	4. Chapter 5

**I have found Chapter Five! Hallelujah. The next chappie will take a bit longer, as I haven't actually written it yet…but then again, this took me long enough..:p**

**Disclaimer shall be done by…**

**Nudge: Hi! I'm Nudge and I'm supposed to tell you that I don't belong to this girl, even though she's really cool and totally didn't bribe me with a trip to the mall and cookies. I got this supercute shirt and a skirt, and the cookies were sugar cookies with little Santas on them. I'm so excited for Christmas, because even though we don't really get presents, it's just so nice, you know?**

** Okay, she is done talking. Hobey-ho, here we go!**

CHAPTER FIVE:

I watch, feeling guilty as Chuck talks to Gazzy. The guilt vanishes faster than Fang did after Total and Akila's wedding, though, when the Gasman's eyes light up. He has an idea.

"Hey, Ig." At my voice, Iggy turns toward me.

"Yeah?"

"I have a job for you," I instruct, using a special bossy voice I've been working on.

"Max, for the last time, it's hopeless to teach you how to cook—"

"No, not that. Gazzy's going to be...kind of...upset soon. I need you to cheer him up by helping him make a bomb."

Iggy reaches out to touch my forehead. "Do you have a fever or something? You, authorizing a bomb!"

"Shut up. Will you do it?"

"Heck yes, I will!"

"Great, Ig," I say and walk away.

Three days later, the flock is all spread out on couches of our incredibly fancy hotel room. The mini-fridge is a big hit—well, it was, until Gazzy downed its entire contents with some help from Iggy. And then barfed all over Nudge. Who in turn shrieked loud enough to give Angel mental headaches, which she's complaining of now.

"Ma-ax, my head hurts. Tell Nudge to shut up," she moans, the picture of innocence.

"That's because Gazzy barfed on me!" Nudge protests.

"Hey, guys, let's go to the lobby. There's something called training sessions going on today, and the scores will be on TV soon. Plus, we can bet on who should win!" I exclaim with false brightness.

Fang allows a small smile at the thought of betting, probably thinking of our little trip to Vegas. For the record, he still doesn't giggle hysterically, which really disappoints some of the fangirls on his blog.

At around eight, after dinner, I round up the flock and lead them downstairs. Gazzy's in kind of a bad mood after barfing up his potential sugar high, and Nudge has a hard time wrenching herself from near a shower should the eau-de-vomit somehow return to her. But I revert to drill-sergeant-Max; I force them to come and we plunk down on the couches in the lobby the second some guy with multiple parts of his face painted green comes on the screen.

Angel makes a face at his..um...face-paint.

_Max? What's with his face? _She asks me mentally.

_It's painted green. Don't ask me why, _I reply, meaning that I have no idea, but this only prompts her to ask why. Pressing a hand to my forehead in a very perfectly executed face-palm, I tell her I don't know why the man is green.

The first four faces that show up all get a number from about eight to ten; the fifth and six both manage fives, but then the seventh and eighth kids are back with a nine and a ten. I get some vague idea that they're in pairs, one boy and one girl, by...what are those things called? Districts!

Everyone almost dies of laughter at Dylan's score of two. We're not allowed to know what he did, and probably never will, if Gazzy does as planned. Because Dylan will be...dead. Ha!

"Max," says something behind me. I whip around and see Fang about three inches from my face.

"Hello…" I answer, already searching for an escape route.

"You know he's going to die."

"Yep, perfectly aware of that," I smile. "Isn't it great!"

"You're going to be upset."

"And you care because…?" Fang looks exasperated and leaves. Whatever point he wanted to make has been rightfully shoved back down his throat. Very lightly, though, or else he might choke. Agh...I'm horrible at punishing Fang.

"The next program you'll see are the interviews!" chimes a voice from the TV. A lady with jewels literally embedded in her face. Nudge's eyes go wide.

"No, Nudge, you may not have jewels put in your face."

"Oh, but Max! They look so good, and I bet—" We never get to hear what she'd bet because Angel seems to have "asked" her to shut up.

That night, I can hear Gazzy and Iggy quietly discussing something, and all I can hear is "explosion". Satisfied, I go back to sleep, wondering if Dylan can sense what's coming at his sorry butt.


	5. Chapter 6

**Hey! I wrote Chapter Six finally. At my friend's house. She helped a ton, so everyone say hi to Madi. *Madi waves* She's helpful with sarcasm. :)**

**Disclaimer: We no own Max Ride or THG. Sadly. Or Fang, even more sadly. But we do own Chuck the middle-aged man. **

**Oh, and thanks soooooo much to everyone who reviewed!**

CHAPTER SIX:

While Dylan nervously stands on his metal plate, he glances at the other tributes. His district partner hates him, and he's tried making friends with some of them, but they all either ignored him or punched him. I found that pretty hilarious, especially since one of the bruises is shaped like an obese panda.

Then the gong rings. Dylan runs as fast as he can, but he idiotically has his wings out; they catch all the air and slow him down. Dylan doesn't notice this, and keeps running. A huge person that looks like he's on freakin' steroids corners him at a big yellow trumpet-thing with a knife.

My "perfect match" shrieks and bursts into tears, and his opponent is so confused that he goes to stab someone else's heart out. Darn it! I can hear Fang mutter a curse under his breath.

"Hey, Ange, can you manipulate Dylan to, you know, kill himself from here?" I ask.

"Well...I don't know. Plus, won't you have more fun watching someone murder him?" Angel answers.

I think about that. "Yeah…."

I turn my attention back to the screen. Dylan's moobs jiggle as he runs, having finally figured out that wings will slow him down, and also possibly forgetting the whole height advantage thing to flying. **(A/N You can thank my friend here for that paragraph. She's also known as silverbird6. Yep, that's what you don't get to see on the STACKS….)**

Fang snickers, then describes the scene to Iggy. All I can make out of Ig's response is "bro". (**A/N That was also courtesy of Madi) **

Naturally, Nudge has to add her two—or two hundred (thousand)—cents. "Omigosh, he's, like, um...well, you know. Wait Max, when are we going shopping? You said we could and I could totally go for some fro-yo, and I need more jeans because the sequins on mine are falling off, and there's barf on my new shirt! So I was thinking we could all go find a department store, or maybe one of those hairdresser-makeover places like in New York, because that was totally free! Ooh, and then we should get more shoes and maybe a dress because Angel told me they do interviews with the final eight tribute's friends and even if we're not his friends, and I doubt Dylan will be in the last eight, but just in case, we should be prepared, you know? I was thinking—mmph!"

Gazzy has clapped a hand over Nudge's mouth. I give him a thumbs-up. "We'll go shopping when this episode is over," I promise, too entertained by an arrow ruining Dylan's "Justin Bieber-style" hair.

Fang continues to narrate the bloodbath to Iggy, who seems to be wearing a superglued-on smirk. Once a nasty cut opens up Dylan's right arm and he scampers, sobbing, into the forest, I turn the TV off and hand Nudge money.

"Shop til you drop," I offer, "we're getting some grub."

Nudge looks ready to drop just at the mention of shopping, so I steer her out the door toward a long, sparkling street of stores. Angel dutifully tags along.

"Now. Where shall we eat?" I question.

"Is there a McDonalds here?" Gazzy begs.

I search for the Golden Arches but see none. "Nope, and even then you're not allowed to have their burgers anymore. I was nauseous for a week!"

Gazzy pouts, but perks back up at a neon-colored sign advertising "Lamb Stew Served Here!".

We walk in, Iggy swearing every time he walks into a table. "Geez, would it kill them to pad these?"

"Not everyone here has that problem, Ig," I remind him. "Besides, we could probably get your eyesight back while we're here."

He looks hopeful, but is distracted by another "*bleep*ing table".

Fang, Gazzy, Iggy, and I sit down at a table, and are immediately greeted by a pink lady. Literally, she's pink from head to toe. And eyeballs.

"What can I get for you?" she screams at us.

"I may be blind, but I'm not deaf," Iggy moans.

She just beams and places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry?" It sounds like a question.

"Holy cow, you're pink!" Iggy says. The waitress giggles and nods.

"We have lamb stew, escargot, crab, fresh fruit, bread, and lemon pie! Would you like to order?"

"Uh...sure. Es-car-go sounds good," Gazzy announces, trying to pronounce the word.

Hey, may as well try it, right?


	6. Chapter 7

**At long last, I have finished Chapter Seven! Thank you all for reading/Favoriting/Story Alerting this and being so patient!**

**Disclaimer: THG= not mine. Maximum Ride= not mine. Plot= mine. **

**Warning: If you like Dylan in any way, shape, or form, I suggest not reading this. He is avidly made fun of and people plotting his death. Flames shall be used to bake cookies.**

CHAPTER SEVEN:

After our, uh, interesting experience with eating what turns out to be _snails,_ we go to watch the Games some more. On the way, even Fang complains about our meal.

"I mean, I've eaten rat before, but never snail. Come on!" Iggy smirks.

Another hour or so later, Nudge and Angel appear, Nudge looking very disappointed. Tears swim in her big brown eyes.

"It's all so expensive!" she wails. "Like, they don't even use dollars, but they have these weird sparkly things so I changed a few dollars into the coins and sparkly things these people use but everything here is at least twenty sparkly things and I only have three, and that's ten dollars, so that's like at least….sixty dollars for everything and how did you even pay for lunch!"

"Well, we played the part of a traumatized family that was so upset to see Dylan in the Games that we left all our money at home and the waitress would get a check from 'Daddy'." I beam.

On the screen, Dylan is crying. Leaning against a tree trunk and sobbing. "I miss my house!" Which is odd, because he never really had a house. "I miss my family." Which is so not us. "I miss ice cream and my teddy bear!" Then he collapses and is unable to speak.

Angel bursts out laughing; the rest of us join in. "Wait, I can send thoughts to him!" she cries. Looking concentrated, she sends Dylan some message. He immediately gets up and dances around like a monkey. Angel cracks up.

Over the next half hour, Dylan opera-sings, slow-dances with a tree, plays tag with a squirrel that Angel's also controlling, and seems to think he's a cat. I flash back to the beach near New York, where Fang got hurt and Angel discovered her underwater breathing ability, when Fang's scratches made him look like a kitty-cat. Which he did not approve of, especially when I commented on it.

The next day, Dylan makes an ally. A chubby boy with blond hair, named Pita or something. Pita pretty much admitted his undying love for his district partner, who actually seems decent, but everyone hates him now. Their alliance was formed when Pita ran into Dylan, literally, and they decided to be in an alliance. Wow, right?

Fang seems very entertained by this group; the two of them bumble along each day, attempting to find food and other survival supplies.

"Max?" Nudge pipes up. I nod at her.

"I was just thinking, you know how that guy Chuck told Gazzy something or whatever, do you know what that was about? Because he never really showed up again and I think it might have something to do with Dylan but I don't know...like, what if he knows how to sabotage something? That'd be great, but wouldn't that be kinda cheating? Like, Dylan won't win anyway but maybe he should get a chance, even if we do hate him—mph." She shuts up as Ig's blind eyes fix her with a glare that no seeing person could manage.

"Yeah, it involves Dylan. No, it will not hinder his ability to suffer in the arena. No, sabotaging him would not be fair, but yes, I would love to do it," I explain slowly.

Nudge's brown eyes widen in understanding, and Iggy turns away, his death glare gone. The twelve-year-old relaxes more visibly than Gazzy's gas clouds. And let me tell you, those things are almost as eye-catching (in a terrible way) as they are disgustingly...disgusting.

"Oh, and Max? How many tributes are left? I think there're, like, ten, right? So Dylan's in the top ten. And that's surprising, but totally not my point. I found out that they interview the friends and family of the top eight. And we're Dylan's only...um, acquaintances. So what if they interview us…?"

"They won't. He'll be long dead then. Plus, we'd just tell them the truth about Dylan," Gazzy declares. In my voice. "Oh, and Fang…" Gazzy's voice turns suspiciously affectionate.

"No!" I scream. Gazzy shuts up.

"When?" Fang asks softly. I know what he means: When is the plan with Chuck going to happen?

"Soon. Gazzy still thinks that Dylan was responsible for temporarily blowing up Angel. Ig told me that the bomb is ready, so we just need to perfect a way to get through the forcefield," I whisper. Fang, ever loquacious, nods.

I ask Nudge if she knows how to get past a forcefield, and being the little computer genius/hacker that she is, she says yes.

"Great. How would one hypothetically achieve this?" I try not to sound too eager.

Nudge's eyes narrow. "Well, you find the chink. It's a wavy line, sort of. And then you throw something through it. But you have to be careful, or the whole thing will explode."

"Thanks, sweetie," I say, then leave and jot down her instructions. It couldn't be easier. Throw something through a forcefield? How about a SuperBomb?

**Reviewwwww?**


	7. Chapter 8

**Okay, I finally got the stupid website to work and it posted! Yay! Anyway, thanks for being so patient and to everyone who put this on Favorites/Story Alert or was so amazing as to review! **

**Disclaimer: Diese bücher gehören nicht mir. (That was supposed to be German...probably bad grammar.)**

CHAPTER EIGHT-

The Games have been going on for a while now. And, of course, Dylan is somehow alive. Pita, however, was trapped under a giant boulder that oh-so-delicately smushed his brains out. This was too much for even the biggest of teenage-brain-mush fans, so it was blurred out slightly. All this managed for viewers was a low quality image of teenage brains. Did you know they have a very similar consistency to—never mind. Of course you didn't.

And then it comes. A silvery streak in the air, that drops right next to Dylan. He beams at it, proud that anyone's even bothered to consider sponsoring him, which now that I think about it is quite a big word for him. Usually it's "I love you" or "You're the strongest person I know." Yeah, yeah.

Fang appears behind me in that haunting way of his. "This is what you've been waiting for. Enjoying yet?" His voice takes on a slightly condescending tone, one I've only begun hearing since he left.

I force a grin. "Totally! I wonder if they'll blur out his brains too!"

Even Fang smirks at this. I know he loves the idea of Dylan dead and away from me, even though he wrote that him being with me, and the flock, was hurting us. Well, people can write anything. I could write "Gazzy's farts smell amazing" in freaking calligraphy on a scroll and it wouldn't seem like a lie! Unless...you're someone who's actually experienced one. Then it's a lie even if you say it straight-faced and holding roses and don't even barf afterwards.

He places a hand on my shoulder, and I want to cringe away but can't bring myself to. His touch is so familiar. Fang is silent—shocker!—as he stares at the TV screen behind me. "Max," he warns slowly, "don't look at the TV." Which of course makes me want to look at it. So I do.

Dylan is unwrapping the bomb and tossing it around like a toddler with a balloon. The fuse is lit and everything; I wonder if he knows that? I send a message to Angel.

_Ange? Tell Dylan to dig a hole and lie down in it, then cover it back up. Please? _

She obeys me (okay, now that really is a shocker) and I watch Dylan dig what will hopefully be his own grave. Or at least a really comfy stretcher. When it's about a foot deep, Dylan lies down in it, but can't replace the dirt. Oh well.

_Tell him to lie facedown. _

_Okay!_

Dylan rolls over. He struggles to inhale against the dirt. I almost feel bad for him. Fang's hands are tensed near my shoulders, not touching me. The fuse reaches its end.

And nothing happens.


	8. Chapter 9

**Alright, it's been a looong time since I updated and I really have no excuse since this has been written for a month or so, and Chapter 10 is done too. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's reviewed, added me to Author Alert or Favorite Authors, or put this on Story Alert/Favorite Stories. Anyway, I promised Dylan will do some serious suffering in Chapter 10, so this and the last chapter were kind of fillers. **

CHAPTER NINE:

Everyone's eyes widen to what's probably ten times their normal size. I give a small laugh and the flock stares at me.

"Max? Why didn't it...work?" Gazzy asks. "Iggy and I made sure! We even made a mini version of the same thing and...may or may not have tested it. But, really, it should have worked!"

Then the announcer guy comes on the TV. "Ladies and gentlemen, what a surprise that was! Luckily for our tribute, the bomb was deactivated before it reached the arena. Dylan's mentor is currently being detained for attempting to kill a tribute from outside, and the citizens of District Six will all be getting refunds on their donations from CapitolCares Charity."

Iggy mutters a few choice words that I'm sure Angel has heard before, because she doesn't look very surprised at them. Note to self: give Ig a dictionary to find better, less versatile adjectives.

And then, because she's Nudge, Nudge pipes up. "Wait, Max! So if the bomb, like, didn't go off...how are we going to get another one into the arena? Maybe if it gets disguised, we could, but they'd probably be even more careful about security now. Unless they want to have lethal sponsor gifts, but, like, I doubt that. So maybe we need another plan to kill Dylan. I know! Fang will think of one, because he hates Dylan, so his, like, need for revenge will make him smarter!"

I doubt that logic, but look expectantly at Fang. He mouths "No" and shakes his head.

"Great idea, Nudge! Fangy will surely think of something better! _Won't you?_"

Fang looks shocked at the nickname. Ha. Ha. Well. "Fine. Um, maybe if we can find a way to get him out of the arena, then the Capitol morons won't interfere."

Geez, Fang. Freaking Einstein over there.

"But the only way to get him out of the arena is if...ZOMG! If he wins!" Nudge's eyes go wide.

_Or, ya know, if us handy-dandy bird-kids swoop in and save the day!_

Angel picks up my thought and laughs innocently. "Good one, Max." I smile at her and make a "be quiet now" gesture.

Nudge is saying something, but nobody seems to be listening. "—and Gazzy would be happy—mph!" Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear behind you and shut you up. That's just how it is.

"Nudge. Can you please repeat, in under twenty seconds and with fewer than five sentences, what you just said?" Fang.

"I guess so. Oh, wait, that wasn't a sentence! Ugh...anyway, if we got Dylan out of the arena, Gazzy could make a new bomb. And that would be good for him because he wouldn't feel bad that his first one didn't get to explode. Ha, take that, Fang—only four sentences! Well, plus the one I just said and the one I'm...darn it."

"That was more than twenty seconds," Iggy announces. Nudge sticks her tongue out at him.

"I think Nudge is onto something, though," Gazzy says.

"You just want to make another bomb," Fang accuses.

"So?"

"Guys! Look. If we want to get Dylan out of the arena, he needs to win. That's the less suspicious way, anyway. There's a forcefield around the arena, like Nudge said, but there's a chink that something can hit to explode the whole thing. If we blow up the forcefield somehow, we can fly in, grab doofus, and then blow him up."

"I can, um, _ask, _someone where the arena is!" Angel exclaims brightly. I nod.

"Or we send him a bunch of awesome sponsor gifts so he wins. I mean, I can hack the Capitol's computers or ATMs and get us the money, and then we just send it to his temporary mentor, if there even is one." There's my little hacker for you!

"How many are left?" Iggy asks.

"Um…I think there's five. Dylan, that girl from Twelve with the bows and arrows, that little girl with the slingshot, and two of the big ones," Gazzy answers.

"I've got an idea," Fang mutters. Everyone stares at him.

"Well, out with it!"

Fang describes his plan, and we're all left standing there open-mouthed.

"Perfect!"

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**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games or Maximum Ride, or CapitolCares Charity. Actually I do own that last one. Ha. I also own the bagel I'm eating. And you really don't care. **


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